A Calculated Risk
by Msynergy
Summary: There are some calculations that even the great Sherlock Holmes does not want to face.
1. Fall

_A Calculated Risk  
_

**Disclaimer:** Still not sure if I need this anymore, but as a force of habit no, I don't own them.

**Author's Note:** A little one-shot I was playing around with that decided to take on a life of its own. Much more on the angsty side than the humorous as well so I'm curious to see what you all think.

Fire was biting at our heels, the heat and smoke suffocating. But he was there, gripping my arm for dear life, refusing to let go despite my stumbling and coughing. My eyes had begun to tear horribly and I tripped again, nearly taking him down with me with the force of my fall.

We were there because of a miscalculation. One that I'm sure he will never forgive himself for if we make it out alive.

Reaching the lone staircase in the house, however, was when I made a calculation of my own.

A large portion of the steps had been crushed by falling debris; so hungry was the fire to consume everything in its reach. I knew too, with my old war wounds and smoke inhalation, I would never make the flying leap necessary to reach safety past the fiery abyss.

Which was when, as my friend was coming to this same conclusion no doubt; I grabbed his thin frame by the belt and collar, flinging him across the chasm with all my remaining strength and without a second thought.

My eyesight may have been minimal at best, but even I could see the indignant fury that lit his eyes after the initial surprise at my actions.

"No! Watson! This is not how this is going to end! I won't allow it! I'm coming bac-"

But just as he was about to finish the stairs I'd remained on gave way, four floors of nothing but air and fire greeting me as the most wrenched scream I've ever heard filled my ears, and I knew nothing more.

**Author's Note:** No, it's not over yet, I'm just an evil author who loves cliffhangers. –insert sinister laughter- Please do let me know what you think!


	2. Found

**Disclaimer:** Still not sure if I need this anymore, but as a force of habit no, I don't own them.

**Author's Note:** Well, now that I have your attention –dodges rolled-up Stand magazines and death glares- here's the second chapter to this little tale. Enjoy!

I don't remember necessarily waking, as much as becoming aware.

At first I thought myself dead, but then something told me that I was very much alive, pain. White and hot, like I hadn't experienced in a long time.

There was something else too, something outside the pain that I slowly became more aware of. Voices.

My head spun trying to separate them all, and I winced, clenching my teeth as a wave of nausea washed over me.

The voices were getting closer, however, and soon my ears began to distinguish the different pitches and inflections of each.

One of them I was sure sounded familiar, so familiar that I felt I had known the person for a very long time. Wait…

Holmes!

But still I questioned if it was him I heard, so frantic was his speech and volume to my ear.

I needed to get up and reassure him, let him know it would be alright, but for some reason one of my legs refused to move, and with my trying to inspect it came only more pain.

I couldn't help but let out a cry this time, so weak was I, but Holmes' sharp ears managed to hear it.

"Watson! Thank God!"

I felt the weight that had my leg pinned lifted off of me, and with it came more pain.

Stars blotted my vision and I closed my eyes, trying desperately to find my breath again as the more my body convulsed against the pain the more that came upon me.

"Be still Watson! You're only making things worse!" came my friend's harsh reply as two thin hands came to press on my shoulders enough to stop my movements.

"Hurts, Holmes," I managed to croak out pitifully, my eyes still closed to the world around me in an effort to shut out the pain.

The hands that held me down I felt start to shake and my own ears found it hard to believe that this was indeed Holmes that answered me, so much emotion saturated his words.

"I know, my dear fellow, I know."

I heard a long sigh, however, and his voice leveled somewhat to the normal tones of my friend.

"Please just stay with me until those buffoons that call themselves police officers come back with a stretcher, and we'll get you out of here."

I nodded weakly, hearing my friend move to sit by my side, his hands releasing me from their hold now that he was assured that I'd stay still, though one of them never left my shoulder until helped arrived.

This alone should have shown to me how much the events leading to that moment had shaken him. It was only when I managed to gain complete consciousness later, however, that I came to realise in full the impact my actions had wrought.

**Author's Note:** Want to see just what Watson is talking about sooner rather than later? Review and let me know! Also thank you to everyone who reviewed the first chapter, I really appreciate it. -grin-


	3. Promise

**Disclaimer:** Many thanks to KCS for letting me know I don't need this anymore. Hurray for public domain!

**Author's Note:** Wow. Thirty-two reviews for only two chapters?! I really can't thank you enough! So here's a present to all you wonderful readers, Chapter 3! Enjoy!

I fully awoke for the first time in an unfamiliar bed with too-starched bedclothes, feeling very much like Rip Van Winkle until my senses were finally able to recognise my surroundings as those of a hospital room.

The next thing I noticed was that I was not alone, but rather in the company of the same man I'd been with last.

Sitting as close to my bedside as possible, his head had taken up residence on the mattress next to my side, one of his thin hands wrapped tightly around one of my bandaged ones.

By the look of his face and clothes, Holmes had been with me quite a while. Much more than a day's worth of stubble peppered his jaw line, and while his jacket and cravat had been tossed to the wayside his shirt and pants looked to be the same ones he'd worn that fateful night, if the smell of smoke that'd yet to leave them was any indication.

The memory of what had happened came rushing back as I inhaled that scent, my hand tensing in Holmes' as a result and making the poor man start from his chair in surprise.

His eyes wild and searching for the cause of the disturbance, it took only a moment for me to understand fully just how little sleep Holmes had gotten during his vigil.

"Holmes," I managed to whisper, lifting my hand in an attempt to snap him out of the daze he was in despite the pain that zinged through my arm by doing so.

If his name hadn't gotten his attention, the attempt I made at hiding the painful yelp my moving had caused more than accomplished the task.

"Watson! Don't move, you fool!"

He settled once more into his chair, shooting me a glare that could make even the most hardened of criminals think twice of crossing Sherlock Holmes.

"Sorry," I croaked, happily letting my hand move back to lie by my side.

"As you should be," Holmes growled, but despite this menace picked up a cup from a nearby tray and helping to raise my head, put it to my lips.

So eager was I at the sight of water my pride could have cared less about how helpless I was; the cool liquid bringing the world into a clarity I felt I'd not experienced for some time.

"Thank you," I whispered after I had my fill, watching Holmes nod curtly as he put the cup aside.

"How bad?" I asked; searching my friend's gaze for the truth as the morphine they'd given me I could tell was still dulling most of the pain.

Holmes sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger and I held my breath, unable to decipher anything from his exhausted, but otherwise blank expression.

"You are an extremely fortunate man, Watson, by all rights that fall should have killed you. From what I was able to deduce the fire-weakened floors that you crashed through must have slowed your velocity, and the sofa that you were found on at the bottom floor had to have cushioned the brunt of the impact. Nevertheless fallen debris pinned your leg, breaking it in several places, and you received a lovely concussion. Several of your ribs are either broken or cracked, and you have multiple second-degree burns on your hands, face and other extremities."

All of this Holmes explained in as calm a manner as I'd expect of him, and I would have believed this mask of collectedness entirely if it hadn't been for the fact that his hands had started to shake as he ended his narrative.

"You found me," this was more a statement than a question on my part, "How long did it take you?"

This question, as I knew it would, hit its mark squarely as I never have seen Holmes wince as sharply as he did then.

"Several hours by the time the fire had been put out, and the building could be safely searched," he hissed through clenched teeth, making the short breaths I'd been able to manage without intense pain stop in my chest.

"I'm so sorry," I choked, such paltry words, but they were all I could think to say.

"Being sorry does not cover half of this, Watson!" Holmes snapped, whipping from his chair to pace in front of my bed, the anger he'd been trying to hide now coming off of him in waves.

"You very well could have died, and all you have to say for yourself is that you are sorry?! Not only that but you intentionally put yourself in said position!"

"Holmes-"

"I had to threaten to physically harm the detective in charge to give me men to help search for you!"

"Holmes-"

"The blackguard had the gall to try and arrest me because of my vehemence, had it not been for Lestrade showing up I do not know what I would have done!"

"Holmes!"

"What the deuce is it?!"

"I meant it when I said I was sorry, despite what little comfort I know it must give. Sorry that I frightened you so badly. Sorry that you knew not my fate after that staircase gave way for so long. But I am not sorry for saving your life. I want you to know, too, that given the chance I would do it again, and will never apologise for it."

My interruption seemed to have the desired effect, as Holmes relaxed visibly, though the length of my speech I immediately regretted as a wave of dizziness washed over me, so persistent had I been to get my friend's attention that I never noticed how I'd managed to prop myself up on my elbows.

"Ugh," I winced, any strength I'd possessed giving way as my head hit the pillow once more, the panicked voice of Holmes filling my ears as I tried to keep myself from becoming sick.

"Watson! Talk to me!"

"Just dizzy," I managed to ground out, feeling Holmes' hand again grasp mine in support as the world continued to whirl around me even after I'd shut my eyes.

"You are right," my friend finally sighed after enough time had passed for the nausea to fade and the world to right itself again.

"You are the most insufferably giving man I have ever known Watson, and that scares me like nothing else. I would never have forgiven myself if you had not made it out of that house my dear fellow, and I doubt I will for a long time even now. I cannot predict future incidents in any of the cases we may have, but please promise me that you will never do such a thing again," he swallowed hard then, his grey eyes shining suspiciously before he quickly averted his gaze and his grip tightened, "I don't think I could survive your generosity a second time."

I squeezed his hand back as tightly as I could.

"Promise, Holmes," I managed to smile, despite the pain that'd been steadily growing since I'd first awoken.

Holmes, to my surprise and delight, smiled back as his eyes again met mine, the expression instantly chasing away any pain I felt.

"Thank you, my dear Watson."

**Author's Note:** I am by no means a doctor but tried my best to think up a logical reason for why Watson would be able to survive such a fall. Please let me know if the explanation provided cannot be covered even by artistic license, as I like to be as factual as possible with such things. Or if you liked it despite any foibles please feel free to tell me that too!


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